Dvel A'ri
by TeaOli
Summary: Sometimes the best decisions are the hardest ones to make. And sometimes the hardest choices are the wrong choices. The trick is figuring out which is which. Complete.
1. The Greatest Good

"I won't be bad anymore."

Spock turned his face away, determined not to look at that trembling lower lip or at the wide dark eyes rapidly filling with tears. But a brief glimpse had been enough to burn an indelible image of misery onto his "mind's eye."

"I'll be _good_." Nyota's choked vow was barely more than a broken whisper. "I promise, Spocky. I'll be a good girl now."

The juvenility of the words she used to issue her promises only served to solidify his belief that he had made the correct decision. Her behavior had long ago convinced his colleagues. A starship was no place to raise a child.

And yet his hands shook as he quickly fastened the girl's little red jacket. The quartermaster's idea of an amusing notion — commissioned before anyone had realized the apparent permanence of the situation — both the coat and her tiny uniform bore Starfleet insignia and her lieutenant's band. That she did not try to obstruct him as he secured the final button and tugged at the hem to straighten the garment was a testament to her desolation.

"Please," she pleaded again, her voice cracking. Spock met her gaze in time to see the first tear fall.

"I will retrieve you in two year's time," he told her, his steady voice betraying none of his own anguish. "Perhaps by then…" He let the sentence trail off. No cure had been found over the past two months. It was irrational to hope one might be found in the next two years.

Nyota stared him without speaking for exactly seventeen seconds before brushing her sleeve over her eyes and giving him a sharp nod. The gesture was so familiar, so akin to what he might once have expected of her, he nearly faltered. Then she turned away and reached towards the small boy who'd been sitting on the floor watching them.

"Come on, Sanek," she said with a calm he knew to be feigned. "It's time to go."

Their young son scrambled to his feet and took his mother's hand without argument for the first time since the disaster.

* * *

**A/N:** Dvel = choice. A'ri = correct.

"It is the greatest good to the greatest number of people which is the measure of right and wrong." — Jeremy Bentham

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Star Trek.


	2. All Else Confusion

Sanek's hand was warm in hers as she led him from their quarters. She felt his fear, but also his love and trust flowing through the familial bond. The irony of the last wasn't lost on Uhura.

Her son had known her the moment he saw her again. The bond, at least, hadn't been broken. But it hadn't been enough to make him accept her.

"_Want my _real _mama!"_

Even the memory of his words sent a knife of pain slicing through her. Tears she refused to shed threatened again. She tried to be grateful that she'd relearned to shield her emotions from him.

Not fast enough.

Her little boy aimed a sharp look her way instead of watching where he was going. He stumbled. Her free hand shot out to keep him from falling.

Instinct. Protect what you love. Keep him safe. If only...

"Easy, baby," she whispered while he tried to find his feet. The urge to hug him to her was nearly overwhelming.

Eyes like his father's bore into hers.

Could he still feel her fear? Her shame? Her guilt? Uhura turned away.

_Can't even meet a toddler's gaze_. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

"Mama?" Sanek's voice was a tiny shadow of Spock's rich tenor. He had not called her that in two months.

Would he still call her that after today? Did he even understand what was happening.

"Spock," she gasped, hating the sound of her own diminished voice. Hating that she couldn't be what Sanek needed her to be. What Spock needed her to be.

Silently, her husband gathered their son in his arms.

Saying more was unnecessary. The bond was still there. The memories remained.

Uhura didn't know what to do with any of it. A million words and more at her disposal, and she hadn't been able to find the ones to tell Spock why she needed him. She couldn't begin to imagine how she would relearn to be his wife.

He started walking down the corridor again, away from the life they'd shared, without looking back to see if she followed.

* * *

**A/N:** Chapter title comes from the Fifth Canto of

**The Princes, A Medley**, Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

"When the man wants weight, the woman takes it up,  
And topples down the scales; but this is fixt  
As are the roots of earth and base of all;  
Man for the field and woman for the hearth:  
Man for the sword and for the needle she:  
Man with the head and woman with the heart:  
Man to command and woman to obey;  
All else confusion."

Know the poem... know _my_ feelings on its subject.

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Star Trek or written by Tennyson.


	3. Shaken His Ankles Free

Crewmen and officers alike dispersed for him when he moved along the corridor. He heard censure in their silence. Even Nyota was not spared their reticence. Or their ill-hidden pitying glances.

"_You're choosing _this_ over us?"_

Although it failed to take into account all of the facts, Nyota's accusation was not without merit. That much Spock could not deny. No matter the reasons behind it, this was his _choice_. He had known — and accepted — that it would bring her a pain both of them might prove unable to move beyond.

He had not expected her to beg. Or for her pleas to hurt. Or for her eventual acceptance of her fate to cause him so much additional anguish.

Spock didn't need to look back to know that she followed. The bond was still there — another unexpected… complication. But his son shifted in his arms and he knew the child watched every step she took. As if his gaze alone could keep her from changing further. Or from disappearing altogether.

He wanted to offer Sanek reassurance: _Your mother follows. She will not allow you to be parted._ But what would that say about his father?

"_You're choosing _this_ over us?"_

"This" meant his duty to Starfleet, their mission on the Enterprise and its crew. She had spoken truly. He could not take comfort in denying her words. Only…

"_Even parted, you and I cannot be parted. Two years, and then I shall come for you and Sanek."_

"_What makes you think you'll have a family to come back for?"_

Her words struck a cold line of fear through his center. Because he knew — through their bond — that she spoke without anger or malice, but rather with fear of what might one day be truth.

.

.

Unlike his colleagues, Spock came to find their new reality less unsettling when Nyota spoke and behaved as the child she appeared to be. Her behavior was more acceptable during the few instances he managed to convince himself she reacted as she did solely due to the new-found immaturity. During those rare occurrences where he did not fear she reacted to a justifiable sense of betrayal.

If she was fatigued or frustrated — in any way thwarted in her efforts to perform in the efficient manner she had been known for before the disaster — she became difficult. In the privacy of their quarters, there was much to debilitate and distress his young wife. Nyota's comprehension of her own emotions was too tenuous for her to adequately articulate. Sanek was too young to understand how his confusion pained her.

"_Want my _real_ mama!"_

Spock did not say, "I need to have a wife again," but he could not avoid her awareness of the fact.

Work, denied to her immediately after the change, at first appeared to be a solution, though not an ideal one.

The same tenacity that had been admirable in the student and in the officer translated to an obdurate mulishness in the girl. Upon learning that fingers which had once been able to utilize — and when need be, repair — delicate communications equipment now lacked the dexterity for tasks as simple as properly fastening her uniforms, she had been intractable and petulant. Preparing her to leave their quarters was a trial until the quartermaster redesigned her clothing to suit her changed needs.

Kirk had been reluctant to restore her to her duty station; he'd had little choice in the face of Doctor McCoy's certification.

"_She may look like a kid, Jim,"_ Leonard advised on more than one occasion. _"But inside that head of hers, she's still mostly Lieutenant Uhura, Chief Communications Officer. There might be a few issues with how she processes her emotions, and with impulse control, but doing nothing all day is probably making things worse."_

Leonard turned to Spock to endorse his analysis of her situation. Spock did not argue because he knew the doctor's conclusion was correct, even if the man failed to discern the true cause of the evident result.

"_She's married to a Vulcan, Jim! The bond's still in place, right Spock? He'll keep her in check." _

Nyota's first weeks back on the bridge was surprisingly successful. With a very few modifications to her station and schedule, she performed as well as their captain had come to expect. Her smiles came more easily. Mister Sulu even ventured to joke about her altered state without fear of repercussions.

Only she and Spock knew what the effort cost her.

The tears and tantrums that ended her only source of comfort didn't come until the fourth week after… until her third week back at her station.

Only Spock believed her suffering was entirely his fault.

That she did not blame him for the disaster only served to enhance his guilt. And his grief.

.

.

Nyota reached his side and reached for his hand. He could not rebuff her offer of a return to amicability.

But her whispered "I'm sorry," accompanied by a blooming of genuine regret, was nearly his undoing.

* * *

**A/N:** Chapter title, and a clue into Spock's thought processes, are from:

**Bond and Free**, Robert Frost

Love has earth to which she clings  
With hills and circling arms about—  
Wall within wall to shut fear out.  
But Thought has need of no such things,  
For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.

On snow and sand and turn, I see  
Where Love has left a printed trace  
With straining in the world's embrace.  
And such is Love and glad to be  
But Thought has shaken his ankles free.

Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom  
And sits in Sirius' disc all night,  
Till day makes him retrace his flight  
With smell of burning on every plume,  
Back past the sun to an earthly room.

His gains in heaven are what they are.  
Yet some say Love by being thrall  
And simply staying possesses all  
In several beauty that Thought fares far  
To find fused in another star.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Trek character or concepts, and I am not Robert Frost or one of his descendants.


	4. Doom Me Not

Spock's emotions were a mystery. Uhura had become accustomed to having only limited access to the bond; not long after she'd been changed what was once a true blending of their very beings had quickly been reduced to a mere sense of his presence somewhere at the back of her mind. But this was something new entirely. Now, though her hand was engulfed by his, Uhura had no idea what he was currently feeling. His shielding was far more absolute than her bungled attempt to protect their son moments before.

She didn't know if he was punishing her or trying to protect himself, but the pain of the loss was almost physical.

* * *

Spock hadn't been properly equipped to meet the Ọmọ Odùduwà, she admitted to herself. That was her fault. She had been too excited about the mission — one of the few deemed safe enough for them to share since Sanek was born — to realize she hadn't been prepared, either.

Of course no one had questioned Uhura's decision to prepare him for the mission to Gama Ilé-Ifẹ̀, herself. Why should they? She was a Wakufunzi on her mother's side. There were no better scholars on African civilizations and languages than the members of that famous family. Moreover, she was Chief Communications Officer on Starfleet's flagship; Spock was its First Officer and her husband.

Although the communications chief often headed the anthropology staff on ships with a general exploration mission, Uhura never worried that Carmen Hargrove, the ship's lead anthropologist, might be reluctant to disagree with her boss. That wasn't how she ran her teams.

"_I'm relieved, actually," the woman told her with a laugh. "U.S.A. cultures aren't my specialty. You're saving me nights of research."_

_Uhura grinned, shaking her head. "You don't off that easily. The rest of the landing party still has to be briefed."_

_Hargrove shrugged. "Yeah, but not as intensively as Commander Spock."_

That much was true. McCoy and Kirk and the two security officers hadn't needed to learn the intricacies and hierarchies of traditional Yoruba religion.

The baálě of Gamma Ilé-Ifẹ̀ had specifically requested that "Nyota bint Wakufunzi" be part of the delegation sent to evaluate the colony's need for new manufactured goods and updated technology. As her consort Spock would be made equally welcome.

Had she known more, the mission would have been less work and more like shore leave.

* * *

_Sixty-three days ago..._  
the headman met them as soon as they beamed down.

"T'nar pak sorat, Nyota bint Wakufunzi," he said after welcoming the captain and the doctor.

Smiling as she bowed and replied, "T'nar jaral, Baálě Ayodele," Uhura watched Spock from the corner of her eye. Only she took note of his surprise that the greeting had been in Vulcan. She hoped her own shock was as well hidden.

Federation universal translators all used a Standard base. There had been no telltale split second of hesitation between the movement of the baálě's mouth and sound reaching her ears. Further more, his lips had shaped the words he had spoken.

Spock noticed, as well.

"Your accent suggests you speak my native tongue with fluency, Baálě Ayodele," he said in that language.

Turning to Spock, the baálě reverted to Standard, although he held up his hand in the ta'al. "Of course! You have arrived in time for our celebration of Eshu-Elegbara. It would be an insult to him if we did not honor his paths."

He led the small group through the city to the beautiful home where they would be quartered.

"The orishas are more potent on this planet," Ayodele explained. "They are more present. And in this city, Eshu is felt more than the rest."

"Tradition is very important to the Children," the city chief continued. "Though we are the children of his rival, we honor Obàtálá as our creator at Olódùmarè's will. Just as we honor Olódùmarè as the Supreme.

"But as we are so far from the soils of Yorubaland, we cannot afford to forget Eshu-Elegbara."

Spock nodded his understanding.

Eshu was a deity of many attributes; protecting travelers and facilitating communication were only two of his responsibilities.

Uhura followed her husband's line of thought easily.

"Before you decide that Eshu is a logical choice, remember, he is also a trickster, a bringer of chaos," she whispered, smiling.

The baálě grinned broadly. "Ah, but you must also remember that he is a fertility orisha, and that the Children of Oduduwa must fill this world with children."

"Perhaps," Spock said dryly, "it was not a wise choice to include the captain in this assignment."

Kirk gave a grunt of protest, but the baálě joined Len in laughter, saying, "You are welcome to take part in all of our celebrations, Captain."

.

.

The ceremony was fascinating. Uhura wanted to remember everything and was pleased that the Ọmọ Odùduwà had given consent for her to record it.

Colonists praised Eshu in song and dance and stories that showcased his prowess, illustrated his exploits. She felt a kinship with the colonists as they exalted his powers as a linguist. Olódùmarè's messenger knew all the languages of men.

The very air seemed to vibrate with a different kind of energy as they moved on to Eshu's attribute as a bringer of fertility. Predictably, Kirk was caught up in the spectacle. But the rest of the landing party was not unaffected.

Spock whispered in her ear of things he usually left unspoken and augmented the meaning of his words with impressions through their bond.

"That's how we ended up with Sanek!" she whispered back as she leaned into his uncharacteristic public embrace.

Unrepentant, he replied, "Sanek might benefit from a companion."

But eventually, the revelry was replaced by a sense of anticipation.

"_The orishas are more potent on this planet. They are more present."_

And then Eshu was… there.

As legend described him, he was small, but handsome and visibly wise. He stepped through the silence to stand before the newcomers.

"Welcome, Daughter of Wakufunzi," he said in Kiswahili. "And Daughter of Eshu."

She could feel Spock struggling through the bewildering web of hunger that still held him. "My wife is a daughter Benjamin," he said.

"I am not worthy of your distinction, Eshu-Elegbara," Uhura cut in, hoping that the implied praise would offset her husband's apparent arrogance.

"Do you not carry messages between worlds? Are you not a speaker of many tongues? No matter that you are from the East. You are mine all the same."

She tried to think of a suitable reply. Something that would also give her husband a chance to recover his manners.

But Spock's curiosity proved stronger than his powers of observation and he continued with, "What entitles you to claim that which is not yours? If you are truly Eshu, you are not a Wakufunzi or an Uhura. If you are not a Wakufunzi or an Uhura, how can you claim my wife as yours. Your logic is faulty at best."

Eshu's faced darkened with anger. He turned back to her.

"Because it was your consort's action that truly saved Oduduwa's children, his penalty will not be harsh. But I cannot resist an opportunity to teach a greatly needed lesson."

She didn't notice the difference right away. There were no flashing lights. No dizziness or pain.

Only the overpowering compulsion to close her eyes.

Even after she opened them again, and saw Spock, Kirk and McCoy all staring at her from what seemed to be a great height, Uhura didn't understand.

But when her gaze floated over to Eshu, and she realized that now he also towered over her, comprehension began to eke its way through her mind. Disbelief and her Starfleet training kept her from panicking.

"You _did_ say your son could use a companion, did you not?" The orisha didn't wait for an answer, just laughed riotously and turned his back on them.

* * *

Uhura gripped Spock's hand as they entered the transporter room. The bond was a shadow of what it had been. His feelings were as indecipherable to her as they were to any of their colleagues.

And she could only blame herself.

* * *

**A/N: "**Ọmọ Odùduwà" means Children of Oduduwa, and is only one of the names the Yoruba people use for themselves. Olódùmarè is the supreme deity. Obàtálá, Odùduwà's brother and greatest rival, created humans at Olódùmarè's direction. But the people's first empire was founded under Odùduwà. Very little of this matter to the story.

Eshu is another deity, or orisha, in the Yoruba tradition. He is a spirit-being connected to (among many other things) communication, fertility, death and chaos.

Chapter title comes from:

**If Blame be My Side**, Emily Dickinson

If Blame be my side—forfeit Me—  
But doom me not to forfeit Thee—  
To forfeit Thee? The very name  
Is sentence from Belief—and House—

Two more to come after this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Trek character or concepts, and I am not Emily Dickinson or a descendant any of her siblings.


	5. Necessary Ills

Spock, and therefore his family, halted just inside the room. He was unable to explain his reluctance to continue over to the transporter pads. For many reasons — perhaps even for some he had not yet considered — sending his wife away for the remaining two years of their mission was the most reasonable option.

Away from the stresses of a starship, Nyota would be able to fulfill her duties to Starfleet in a capacity more suited to her current manifestation. The situation was not ideal, but being able to work again would relieve some of her frustration. Evidence-driven conjecture suggested that leaving Enterprise would also increase the probability of her remaining unharmed over the next two years and nineteen days.

While no place in the galaxy could be considered truly free from danger — history had borne that out in the a most devastating fashion — members of Starfleet were statistically more likely to incur injury while serving out extra-planetary assignments.

It was also logical for Sanek to leave. More so, in fact. The child had no duties on the ship and had only spent almost the entirety of his life within its confines because of Jim Kirk's reluctance to lose two of his senior officers. Even if Nyota had not declared "I won't let you make me leave my son!" Spock would have insisted the two go together.

The two persons most significant to him would be leaving him behind in a matter of hours. Under the circumstances, it was wholly logical, and even preferable, that they should do so. Spock could not deny, at least to himself, that he preferred not to be separated from them.

.

.

Several factors had hindered the adjustment, and even impeded, most of Doctor McCoy's recommendations for easing Nyota's adaptation to her new state.

In spite of her affronted silences and, later, sharp rebukes, most of the crew — only the chief medical officer, in a reversal of what was the norm, could be said to consistently succeed in following his own counsel — often had to be reminded to address her as "Lieutenant Uhura." Even Spock was hard-pressed not to refer to his wife by her given name when not in their quarters.

He blamed his own difficulties with adhering meticulously to protocol to his difficulties in achieving a truly beneficial meditative state. He surmised the majority of the ship's residents addressed her as "Sweetie," "Honey" or other, equally patronizing terms simply because, lacking the benefit of a telepathic link to her less-obviously-altered mind, they were overly-influenced by her external appearance.

Much to Spock's dismay, and to Nyota's distress, their son was among that majority. In spite of the familial bond that allowed him to recognize her immediately, when Sanek called her anything at all, the word he invariably chose was "Girl."

Spock had borne witness to Nyota's pain when, during their first meeting after the regression, Sanek had violently retreated from her attempt to embrace him, shoving her away and yelling, "No!"

Although the depth of her reaction had been nearly disabling, he had not muted the bond or shielded his own emotions from her. At the time, he had still believed in his ability to bring her comfort. Only after the… disagreements became a daily event — twenty days after she was excluded from the bridge — did he seek refuge in solitude.

It was, Spock reasoned, a choice that benefited his wife as much as him.

An incident that could easily have ended in tragedy occurred before he realized his mistake.

.

The night Sanek went missing, he and Nyota had disagreed again. Rather, they had repeated the same disagreement they had been having, whenever she felt particularly emotionally vulnerable — although he did not become of aware that this was the cause until later — since their return to the ship after completing the mission on Gama Ilé-Ifẹ̀.

She wanted to sleep in their bed. Spock explained, again, why she must take her rest in the small bed next to Sanek's cot in the nursery. He did not realize that her apparent capitulation was in reality something quite different.

Because he had subdued the bond, because he rarely allowed any physical contact that could result in an empathic link, Spock didn't know that, instead of retiring to her bed, having seen the logic of his argument, Nyota had retreated to the nursery to cry herself to sleep on the floor.

He did not know that their son had sensed her distress.

Given Sanek's recent interactions with Nyota, Spock could not have guessed that the child would attempt to alleviate her anguish.

Both parents had been pleased to learn that Nyota's affliction did not interfere with her maternal bond with Sanek. However much the toddler rejected her, she remained acutely aware of his location and attuned to his welfare at all times. Although she was atypically psi-sensitive for a human, she seemed to lack the ability to ignore that aspect of the connection. As he knew she drew a measure of comfort from the knowledge drawn from it, Spock had never endeavored to learn why that was the case.

It never occurred to him that she might experience emotional upheaval sufficient to hinder that awareness.

Spock left that night, content in the knowledge that if anything pertaining to their son went amiss, Nyota would interrupt his meeting with the captain.

It never occurred to him that she would not know when Sanek tried to leave their quarters.

.

.

The memory of her face — dominated by wild, frantic eyes during the first forty-nine minutes of Sanek's absence, followed by sixteen minutes of tears and finally, ending with seventy minutes of a calm he knew owed nothing to tranquility — haunted Spock through hours of meditation over the following week.

Even the sight of Sanek, sleeping in Lieutenant Sulu's arms, wilted flowers clutched in his tiny hand, had failed to rouse her.

Only after Sanek awoke and issued a fearful "Girl?" when his unresponsive mother did not accept his offering did she seem to become aware of her surroundings again.

McCoy diagnosed her behavior as a mild post-traumatic stress- and separation-anxiety-related reaction.

"She doesn't really have an outlet for the things she's feeling, Spock," the doctor explained. "She's got this adult-level intelligence, and all the memories of what she was like before. Think about it! She's constantly surrounded by reminders of what she should be able to do, what she should be able to handle, but can't. And she doesn't have the equipment to process her emotions.

"To have to be a mother on top of that? I don't understand how she's doing as well as she is. I never thought I'd be the one to admit this to you, but it's a good thing she's married to a Vulcan. That hoo-doo you two have going on is probably the only thing holding her together."

Spock did not mention the cloaked bond. He did not admit that he was the reason his wife was, as humans said, "falling apart."

.

.

He resumed his forward momentum, moving his family towards the transporter pads, and towards a life none of them truly wanted.

.

Knowing that she would likely discern the truth, eventually — once she was able to see beyond her chaotic emotions: guilt, fear, confusion, pain — Spock had used Nyota's love for their son to secure her initial agreement to the temporary separation.

"These past months have been difficult enough for you and me. Sanek is too young to fully understand what has happened to you, and he will continue to react in ways we cannot predict. He will be safer somewhere else."

He'd decided it best that his wife and son send the two years on Earth with her parents.

"They raised three offspring to adulthood," he had reasoned. "Your mother's work for the Diplomatic Corps exposed them to many unusual circumstances. Moreover, as the Federation's most renown Xenopsychiatrist, your father would undoubtedly be able to discover a method to help you both adapt.'

"Sanek is more Vulcan than any of us thought he would be," Nyota had countered in spite of her reluctance to leave at all. "He needs a Vulcan to guide him. Baba might be the best, but he's not Vulcan. We'd be better off with _your_ father."

As gratifying as it was to know that their son's welfare remained her first priority, Spock had not been willing to completely dismiss his wife's security and happiness.

"Sarek has no experience meeting the emotional needs of a human child. Sanek is not at an age where his needs are exceedingly different from—"

She'd cut him off, outrage and fear nearly obliterating the despair in her eyes. "You don't know that for certain! I will _not_ risk my son's health on an unsubstantiated supposition."

Tears had been flowing down her cheeks by the time she'd stammered out the final two words, lisping over the sibilant consonants.

"I won't!" she'd repeated, folding stick-like arms over her narrow chest. And in the defiance emanating from her stance and her glare, he recognized the futility of further argument.

In the end, they had agreed that his t'dahsu was uniquely equipped to serve both Sanek's needs and her own. There would be some small comfort in knowing that his wife and child were in the care of another Spock, and that the Federation's foremost human xenopsychiatrist was monitoring all of them.

.

But as the transporter beam prepared to disassemble their molecules, his only thought was that in less than forty-eight hours, he would return to the Enterprise alone.

* * *

Two yeas should be negligible for a being who could reasonably expect to live more than two hundred. For a being with a nearly eidetic memory, however, two years spent away from those who presence was most important was… nearly unbearable.

Occasional live subspace contact did not make up for holding his son in his arms. Letters about Sanek's physical, mental and telepathic progress were a poor substitute for observing it, himself.

Of his wife, he knew little beyond what his older counterpart and father-in-law shared in almost clinical accounts detailing her own adjustment.

Still, though the passage of the time was not easily endured, Spock knew the decision had been necessary.

.

.

"She has declined to speak with me?"

Spock kept his expression neutral as he faced the viewscreen. His t'dahsu did not. The look his older self gave him was plainly calculating. He wondered if the ambassador emeritus found him wanting. Such an assessment could not be ascribed to faulty logic. Spock was fully acquainted with many of his own deficiencies.

But after a moment, the older Spock gave a thoughtful nod. The younger couldn't determine whether the accompanying conclusion was positive, negative or neutral.

"The separation was… very painful for her at first. You are aware that I began my intervention almost immediately, but you do not know that before her father was able to come and offer his assistance, I had little success. She endured a great deal of hurt before she even approached Mastery."

Spock Tela'at looked away from the screen, his expression softening a he focused on something outside the younger Spock's field of vision. _Or perhaps_, he thought, _some_one.

"I do not believe she will remain detached. I do not think she _can_. Give her time, t'dahsu," the elder said, facing forward again.

Spock was noncommittal. "I find the human maxim 'time heals all wounds'— especially as it relates to the female of the species — to be fallacious."

"The statement is not factual," his counterpart conceded. "However, I believe Menander never intended for it to be taken as a factual statement. He _was_ one of Athens's New Comedians, and therefore prone to creating characters who spouted aphorisms without necessarily living up to their wisdom. Perhaps the true value of the saying is as a goal to strive for."

"If that is the case, then I have failed in still another endeavor."

His t'dahsu made no attempt to hide the rebuke in his next sharp look. "You and your Nyota are still alive," he chided. "Time still has… time for you both."

.

Sanek was more accommodating than his mother.

"How soon, Baba?"

"The Enterprise will reach T'Khasian orbit in forty-seven standard hours. That is nearly two standard days. I will join you there soon after that."

"_How_ soon?" Sanek demanded.

"I do not know, sa-fu," Spock replied. Honestly remained a Vulcan's first choice.

His son's smile — so like his wife's — did not falter.

"I'm _happy_, Sa-mekh!"

.

.

Benjamin Uhura was not an unpleasant companion. He did not attempt to make "small talk." Nor did he offer Spock assurances about that which could not be guaranteed. The xenopsychiatrist merely added to the intelligence he had been in the habit of supplying since Nyota and Sanek had gone to live on T'Khasi Vokaya.

"I don't need to tell you how stubborn my daughter can be," Doctor Uhura said as the walked through the transport terminal. "But perhaps a reconfirmation of her facility for forbearance is warranted."

Spock only nodded slightly. Up ahead, three distinctive figures stood waiting.

.

.

In spite of the warm weight of his son in his lap, Spock felt bemused and somewhat excluded. Before the group entered the relative seclusion of the hovercar, Sanek had been as reserved and solemnly respectful as any well-trained fully-Vulcan child his age. But he had watched Spock's every move, as if he was afraid his father might disappear at any moment.

Everything about his son's demeanor had changed once the vehicle's doors were sealed. Spock had settled Sanek sideways in his lap so that they could continue their reciprocal surveillance as the child recounted two years' worth of activities and accomplishments. Though he spoke in an unpredictable mix of Vulcan and Kiswahili, none of his fellow passengers appeared to have any trouble following his narrative. Spock Tela'at and Doctor Uhura occasionally clarified a point at the little boy's request. When the two older men offered differing perspective on an outing six months before, Sanek twisted around to consult his mother's opinion.

He took advantage of his son's distraction to watch his wife. A small smile lifted the corners of her lips as she disputed her father's version of the event. And yet her expression held all of the serenity he'd thought lost when Eshu had changed so much of her. It occurred to him that perhaps he had not erred irreparably and he nearly gave in to an impulse to smile back.

_Hope_, he realized. _I am hopeful_.

"Wait!" Sanek's exclamation stole Spock's attention. "Why do you say 'Baba' when you mean 'Babu,' Mama?"

Nyota's smile grew even though her lips were pressed firmly together. Spock recognized the signs of suppressed laughter.

"Your babu is Mama's father," he explained. "Just as your sa-mekh'al is my father."

Sanek frowned in concentration. "But Mama calls Sa-mekh'al 'Sa-mekh,'" he pointed out. "And Sa-mekh-siyah does, too. But Sa-mekh'al calls him 'Spock' and he calls _you_ 'Spock' and Mama—"

"Perhaps a meld would of benefit?" suggested the elder half-Vulcan.

Spock suspected his counterpart and Doctor Uhura found his son's behavior as funny Nyota appeared to.

"Surely he's too young?" Spock was too surprised at the proposal to join in the general amusement.

"He is," his t'dahsu said, "nearly a Terran year older we were when our father first melded with us."

The reminder of how much of his son's life he had missed was sharp, and Spock found himself looking to the young girl who was nevertheless his wife for comfort or reassurance or possibly encouragement. He wasn't certain which was required. She gave a small nod, her eyes soft as they fell to the boy in his lap.

It was the work of moments to untangle his son's confusion. Sanek's mind was supple and eager for knowledge. At the conclusion of the meld he simply said, "Oh" and then settled back against his father's chest to observe their fellow passengers.

Above the boy's head, Spock met Nyota's approving gaze. All at once it seemed unnecessary to continue shrouding the bond. The girl before him was different from the child who had been unable to move beyond her fears and frustrations on the Enterprise.

He set about dismantling the walls he had constructed more than two years before, to protect himself as much as to safeguard her. It was difficult not to hurry in anticipation of sensing her presence after such a prolonged absence, but he did not wish to startle her with what she might perceive as an abrupt intrusion.

The last of the shields fell away, and Spock opened himself up, ready to welcome his wife back to her place in his mind.

Five minutes filled with solitude, each one feeling like an eternity, passed before he accepted that she had learned to shut him away from herself.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the delay, this chapter turned into a monster that had to be split in two (unbetaed) pieces.

Title comes from: "Time is healer of all necessary ills. And even you he now will heal." — Menander, from one of the unidentified fragments.

I don't own and I don't profit.


	6. Until the Hour of Separation

Late morning sun peeked through the window of her room, falling on her desk. Uhura didn't notice its warmth.

She stared at her monitor without really seeing the schematics of an enhanced ion filter. She didn't particularly care at the moment. Command hadn't expected favorable results when they granted permission for her to develop the device. Still, the project had sustained her for the past two years, had given her a legitimate reason to remain a member of Starfleet.

A communicator that kept away teams connected to their ships was a very real need. For the past two hours, its importance had paled beside the knowledge that now only a single wall separated her from Spock. She could feel her son's happiness spilling over. Whatever her husband might be feeling was a mystery.

He had wanted to her to stay with him and Sanek as they toured Ambassador Spock's home. That should have pleased her. Strangely, it didn't. She was left feeling even sadder and more confused. She couldn't understand why.

_Parted from me and never parted_, they had promised.

Uhura scoffed at the untruth and forced herself to continue working.

A single physical wall.

So feeble when compared to the mental walls that truly kept them apart. And yet she had been certain the space was needed.

.  
_For two days, Sanek had spoken of little other than his father's imminent arrival. Uhura had been counting the days for two years. _

_She'd tried to focus on her son's obvious joy and incessant chatter. Maintaining her composure had become almost second nature — it was necessary to both her work for Starfleet and for interacting in Vulcan society. But just as she'd feared it would, Spock's presence threatened to unravel everything she had struggled to learn during daily sessions with his counterpart. _

_At first, he'd seemed content to listen to Sanek's stories of life on T'Khasi Vokaya. She'd felt comfortable — natural — encouraging him when he was uncertain about melding with their son. After, Spock had started watching her. It had taken all of her concentration not to squirm under his scrutiny. Then, just for a fraction of a second — several minutes into his stare — he'd looked stricken. Uhura didn't understand it — couldn't begin to imagine the cause — but she was sure it somehow related to her. Without meaning to, she'd disappointed him. Again. _

_She couldn't meet his gaze and remain serene, so for the remainder of the trip to Spock Tela'at's home, she watched everyone except her husband. It was just easier that way. _

.

"Nyota ndogo."

Uhura didn't turn away from the screen. "I don't like that name anymore."

"It has never bothered you before today," her father said. She listened to the sound of his footsteps moving across the smooth stone floor. "Should your husband's arrival change what I have called you for twenty-five years?"

Her whole body tensed against a flare of emotions too varied for her to isolate and identify. She knew only that if she looked at him, she wouldn't be able keep from crying.

"Baba, it's.. it's harder than I thought it would be." Her voice was so low she wondered if he would hear. She hoped he wouldn't ask her to repeat herself. "I thought I knew how to…"

Benjamin Uhura had the patience of a Vulcan and didn't urge her to hurry as searched for composure. The tears burned in her eyes. A deep, juddering breath and a roll of her shoulders held them back.

"Spock… Tela'at…" Her voice was tiny, broken. "I thought everything he taught me would make it easy, but… but it's not and there's still so much I don't understand."

She looked at her baba's concerned face and the tears burst free. Then his arms were around her and somehow, she was in his lap and he was in her chair and he was rocking her and crooning and telling her that life was never _easy_, but that maybe, just maybe, the ambassador's lessons had given her something like a choice.

.  
.

"We are not Vulcan," Baba had said before lying her on the bed. "At times, we require a different release than what they can find through their meditations. Your tears are healthy, Nyota ndogo."

And it was true. She felt better for having cried in her father's arms. Her mind was clearer. Her future, and everything it would bring, didn't seem as bleak.

The sun was much higher in the sky. Soon she'd have to join the others for the midday meal. Until then, she decided, it wouldn't hurt to seek peace in the Vulcan way.

.  
.

This calm was fuller, deeper. Uhura extinguished the firepot, breathing in the last tendrils of incense. She blinked several times before finally leaving her eyes open.

The door swung open at her back.

"I'm fine now, Baba," she said as she rose to her feet. "Am I late for lunch?"

"I am not your father," Spock said.

For a moment, Uhura was frozen. But her tranquility held and, slowly, she turned to face her husband.

I apologize if they sent you to fetch me." She clasped her hands behind her back. "I did not mean to keep everyone waiting."

Spock didn't answer right away. Instead, his gaze moved from hers to the asenoi at her feet then back to her face.

"That is not why I have come." She didn't know if the stiff posture that accompanied his word was natural to him now, or if it was born of something new. Uncertainty? Disapproval? What he said next did nothing to solve the mystery. "You are now… at peace?"

His question confused her. Aroused her suspicions. Set her off balance.

"What do you need?"

He stepped forward, closing the door behind him as he came. The movements were fluid, graceful in the way she remembered him to be.

"Sanek sensed your distress and became upset. I was not able to soothe him. In the end, I was forced to seek my t'dahsu's aid." Spock's tone wasn't cool. It wasn't detached or indifferent. It added to her confusion. It broke her calm and reignited her fear. "Why have you chosen to obscure our bond?"

His eyes didn't leave hers.

Cocking her head to the side, she tried to imbue her voice with everything his lacked.

"Why are you so mad at me?" It was harder to choose her words when she focused on hiding her feelings.

He stared at her, his face an open question before he visibly calmed himself. His voice gentled. "I am not angry with you, Nyota. I merely seek to understand why you have hidden yourself away from me."

_How did he even know?_

Her mind flashed back to that moment in the car. The brief instance when she thought she saw his agony. Had there been a probing just before? There was no way to know now, and… All at once the unfairness of it all, of the time she had spent alone, of decisions made without her consent, of… everything.

_Why argue now? What had changed? _

Anger escaped her control and she said the first thing that came to mind. "You did it first!"

Spock continued to watch her, his face now so composed she couldn't begin to guess what he was thinking. How he was reacting.

"You _promised_! 'Parted from me and never parted' but—" The tears welling up refused to be held back and she was mortified to feel a lump for in her throat. The rest to be said. A hard swallow gave her just strength to croak, "But you left me alone long before you sent me here."

* * *

**A/N:** Chapter title from:

But speechless was our love, and with veils has it been veiled.  
Yet now it cries aloud unto you, and would stand revealed before you.  
And ever has it been that loves knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.  
— Khalil Gibran, _The Prophet: The Coming of the Ship_.

I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts and I do not profit from writing about them. Neither am I an inheritor of Mr. Gibran's estate.


	7. Far From Being One

Spock felt his insides twist. Her accusation was true. He pushed back a wave of guilt-laced frustration. She still had not answered his question.

"Why, Nyota?" he asked again.

"It weakens a bond, this sort of… cloaking. Did you know that?" She spoke with a nonchalance he knew — even without access to her mind — was false. No matter what she had learned during her time on T'Khasi Vokaya, the little girl she appeared to be was far less adept at concealing strong emotions than the woman had been. "The healers say a weaker bond is easier to sever. The sooner we do this, the better. You barely have more than a year."

"I will not choose another mate."

"Then you will go to one of the temples that now serve males in need. I won't allow you to die just because I can't live up to the promise I once made."

"There is no guarantee that I will even—"

"You will. It happened to him and it will happen to you." Her declaration was made all the more impressive by virtue of the quiet, matter-of-fact intonation of the child-like voice delivering it. "I will not watch my husband go to another woman."

"Meditation is a viable option."

"Not for you." Tears filled her eyes as she started to back away from him. "You have to find a new mate, Spock. You shouldn't have to die because I'm unfit and can't help you."

"I could not lay blame at your feet, ashayam, when the greater culpability was my own."

The tears spilled over, but when she spoke, her voice remained strong. "That doesn't change my mind, Spock." Her tone was grave, no longer completely devoid of feeling.

There was an almost… wistful quality to her inflection. She left the room before he thought to investigate it.

Spock sank to the floor before her asenoi.

.

.

The scent of Nyota's incense clung to his clothing as Spock made his way to the ambassador's kitchen. His t'dahsu sat alone at the otherwise empty table. The others were gone.

"Enough food remains if you are hungry. You may serve yourself." The ambassador pointed to a small stasis unit and then to an open cupboard containing dishes.

Spock retrieved a bowl, filled it with cold soup and selected spicy flatbread to complete his repast. He sat across the table from his t'dahsu, but did not begin to eat right away.

"How did you explain my absence?"

"We didn't have to; Sanek assumed your were tired from your journey and none of us challenged his theory." He nodded towards Spock's bowl. This other Spock sounded weary and the younger wondered, not for the first time, what right his family had to impose upon him. "It is good you haven't taken much; the next meal is not far off. The child is growing and must eat frequently."

Spock paused, the spoon just outside his mouth. He placed it back in the bowl. "Which child? Both have grown more than I anticipated."

"A child is all you see when you look at her?" The old Vulcan hid neither his surprise nor his discontent. "Is that how you interpret her choices, Spock? I had hoped that you of all people would see beyond the exterior."

"I realize that she has retained the memories and the intellect of the woman I married, but her actions and behavior since the regression can hardly be said to be those of an adult."

"On the contrary," Spock Tela'at countered, "from what I have seen, her _most recent_ actions display a level of maturity few adults are likely to show. I don't see a child at all when I look at her."

The younger Vulcan studied the older for a moment before calmly picking up his spoon again. He took a sip of his soup before placing the utensil back in the bowl and pushing the lot away in a series of slow, deliberate motions.

"Oh?" he queried, brow raised. "What exactly is it that you see?"

"I see a woman who believes — not without warrant — that her husband abandoned her at her greatest time of need. One who, no matter the cost to herself, is yet willing to do what she feels she must in order to preserve his life," his t'dahsu replied. "I think that you have been extraordinarily fortunate in your choice of a bondmate."

Understanding, out of his reach before, came all at once.

"You taught her how to hide herself from me."

"I taught her how to survive a pain that was crippling her."

"She is _my_ wife!" Spock gritted out. "The responsibility was mine."

"Yes," his t'dahsu quietly agreed. "And had you remembered that when you were making decisions _for_ her instead of _with_ her, you most likely would not be fighting to keep her in that role."

Spock's shoulders slumped, his head falling forward. He didn't try to hide his weakness from his elder self.

"Nyota is my bond-mate; I do not want another. But I doubt there is anything to be gained from fighting her," he said with a stoicism that belied his certainty that his world would end in just over a Terran year. "Nyota has always been tenacious when she believes she is in the right."

"Then you must convince her that she is wrong about this matter."

"She does not wish for me to seek… assistance elsewhere while we remain bonded."

"She is unmistakably an adult, but in some areas, she still has the Mastery of a child," Spock Tela'at admitted. "Human children are not known for sharing what they hold most dear."

Slowly, Spock nodded, then stared down at the table. Three full minutes passed before he looked up and spoke again.

"After the change, it was as if a part of me was blinded. From the moment she knew she was dear to me, Nyota helped me navigate… emotion. She was my guide, and then…" He trailed off. It was obvious that his t'dahsu knew exactly what his wife had been for him.

"And then, when _she_ could not see, you found you could not make your own way through this darkness you perceived," the elder mused, nodding his understanding. "Fear replaced the contentedness you had become accustomed to. You allowed it to prevent you from meeting her needs. You chose to shut her away rather than have her know you were lost, as well."

"I wanted to protect her," Spock said, knowing that his protest was weak. "To keep from constantly reminding her of what we had lost. So she would not see what I thought I still needed."

"And to protect yourself from seeing the truth? That even though she could not give you what you had become accustomed to having, she was still Nyota Uhura?"

"I tried to make amends as soon as my error was clear, but..."

"But she had already cauterized the wound in your bond," Spock Tela'at finished for him.

"Yes."

.

.

From the balcony outside his bedchamber, Spock could look over the modest grounds of Ambassador Spock's home. T'Khasi Vokaya would soon turn from its sun, leaving him to contemplate his state of affairs in darkness. While in the past he had acknowledged the existence of the emotion he was currently experiencing, he never named it.

"It's called loneliness," said a disembodied voice.

Spock glanced around. He still appeared to be the balcony's sole occupant, and yet he was certain he had not imagined the words. And that it had come from somewhere close to him.

A shimmering form began to resolve itself from hot air until a small, dark-skinned person stood at his side.

"I imagine you have come to know it well since we last met," Eshu added, tilting his head.

The orisha seemed to want confirmation, but Spock studied him in silence, aware that an ill-chosen response could prove disastrous.

"I have known it most of my life," he said at last.

Eshu nodded, stroking his chin, eyes trained on the stone floor. "Mmm. But this is different!" The African deity looked up, smiling strangely. Goading, Spock decided. "You have known what it is like to be 'never parted,' as your people say, and you liked it. And now you are learning there is no such thing as 'never.'"

Forcing himself not to look away, Spock quietly said, "We have been parted for more than two years."

The orisha's smile faded and, despite the heat, Spock shivered. "But it's different when the choice is not yours. Isn't it?"

The words were an accusation, designed to bring pain. Eshu achieved that goal, and the half-Vulcan stopped fighting to control his anguish and desperation. He swayed on his feet.

The orisha sighed and motioned for Spock to take seat in the shadows cast by the house.

Compliance came easily. Spock pressed his back against the stone wall and stared up at the small man-shaped being.

Eshu stared back, hands on his narrow hips. "So, Son of Sarek and Amanda, tell me what have you learned. What was your error?"

Shamed, Spock looked away. "There have been many. My first was dispensing with common sense. My last was sending my family away from me."

Nodding, Eshu motioned for him to continue.

"I knew the stories of your conquests and was determined to keep she who is my wife away from you. I was feeling possessive and did not like hearing you claim what was mine. But Vulcans are not supposed to experience jealousy, so I argued in the name of logic."

"Yes. Good. What else?"

"I did not respond well to Nyota's changing needs. The truth is, I had difficulty functioning while her pain was part of me. She, who had been the one to steer _me_ through intense emotions, did not understand her own feelings. My reactions were heavily influenced by my own sense of loss and confusion, but I told myself I acted with her safety in mind. And when weeks had gone by without any change for the better, I could no longer bear to see her pain, either. So I sent her and our son away."

"Where she learned to hide herself from you." Eshu's eyes where no longer accusing. He peered at Spock with something akin to pity. "You have learned well. It is unfortunate the price had to come at such cost."

"I do not want lose her. But I do not wish to hurt her more by going elsewhere when I must…when my…"

Eshu held up a hand, palm out, fingertips up. "You will not need another to get you through your Time next year. I can grant you that. Winning back your wife's favor, however, is your task, alone."

Spock watched the world around him distort.

.

.

He was immediately aware of what happened.

Spock stared at his hands as he felt his hard-earned Mastery begin to fade. He estimated that Eshu had not set him back far enough for it to disappear entirely, but he could not deny that he had far less control than only moments before. He mourned its loss, wondering if Nyota's change had been similarly daunting.

_Of course it was. And I did nothing to make her experience easier to bear_.

The guilt of knowing pushed him back to the stone floor.

He hid — there was no other word for what he was doing — on the balcony off his sleeping chamber until the sky darkened into night.

.

She appeared before him as if called by his longing and regret. He probed the bond, although he already knew she still held herself aloof. The disappointment on her face had been quickly hidden, and he felt no trace of it as she walked towards him.

"Oh, Spock. What have you done?"

He did not think she was angry with him. The expression on her face was familiar. His mother had often looked at him in that manner. He felt his throat tighten as an image of Amanda Grayson, concern — muted in deference to the customs of her husband's people — written across her face, filled his mind.

"I—" He paused, irrationally surprised that the high-pitched, fretful voice was his own. "I am frightened, Nyota."

With a poise discrepant from her outward appearance, she sank onto the floor next to him. When her thin arms came around him, he stiffened before attempting to respond in kind. Graceless limbs with no muscle memory of holding a human her size struggled to find their place. The first time he had worn the body of a young half-Vulcan, there had been no Nyota Uhura in his life. Even in his adult form, he had rarely embraced her after the transformation.

Sharp pricks heralded tears trying to escape his rapidly diminishing control. He pressed his face against the top of her head as if the action might ward them off.

"The healers would have parted us," he said, his plaintive voice muffled by her thick, sweet-smelling hair. "They would have helped you sever the bond."

"But _this_, Spock?"

He had not even contemplated the possibility of his own regression and all that came with it.

"The orisha came here. He knew about the Time, and I asked only that you be spared having to give me to another," he said, ashamed that, once again, he had failed to sufficiently weigh the consequences of his words. "I did not expect this."

A sudden memory of Sanek, flinching away from her touch, caused icy tendrils of fear to uncoil in his abdomen. Nyota clutched him tighter until he gained some small semblance of Mastery over it.

He might have given in to despair, but Nyota was holding him. And loving her was no longer painful. Stripped as he was of the fetters of his need for something impossible for her to give, for someone impossible for her to _be_, he also began to understand the lack of understanding that had so frustrated her in those first two months.

Through no effort of his, the bond opened, bathing him in her presence.

"Sanek…" he said, knowing she would perceive his mind's direction.

"Will adjust more easily this time," she assured him. "He's had two years to get used to having a kid for a mother. Why shouldn't his father be a kid, too?"

Her voice was cheerful, optimistic, but the bond was no longer veiled and he knew she worried nearly as much as he did.

"I think you will agree that Eshu intended for me to be an adolescent."

Her laugh was unconvincing, but he could feel her appreciation for his attempt at lightheartedness, however short-lived the effort was.

Thinking and speaking of their son sharpened his sense of the familial bond, and—

"He knows we worry! I must go to him." Spock attempted to stand as Nyota's hands fell away.

But Sanek was already standing in the doorway, staring.

Spock dropped back to the balcony floor, wrapping his arms around his knees, and stared back. He felt the dread seep into him again. This time there was no cool human touch to abate it.

Sanek stepped away from the door, halted exactly two meters away.

"Sa-mekh?" There was no confusion in the child's voice, only curiosity. "Why?"

"I did not wish to be parted from your mother," Spock answered honestly. Because he didn't know what else to say.

He watched his son watch him. The boy's gaze was considering. There was no sign of rejection. Yet. Spock steeled himself for it, drawing his knees closer to his chest. But he did not look away.

Then he had to loosen his hold on himself because Sanek's short legs were carrying him rapidly over the remaining distance. The child hurled himself at his father's chest.

"Don't be sad, Baba," Sanek demanded as his arms snaked around Spock's neck.

"I will try, sa-fu," Spock whispered. He lifted a hand and began stroking his son's sturdy back.

Sanek pulled far enough away to stare into Spock's eyes again. He placed tiny hands on his father's cheeks.

"Don't be sad!" he ordered again.

Spock moved his eyes only enough to observe Nyota, wondering if she would be hurt by their son's favorable reception of him when her own acceptance had been so hard-won. But she was smiling at both of them, her cheeks and lips curved with amusement-laced joy.

Sanek squeezed his cheeks. Spock met their son's serious gaze again.

"_Do it_, Sa-mekh!"

The wave of the boy's love left Spock too overwhelmed for speech.

"He will, mwana," Nyota promised. "But first, perhaps you can go find Babu and Sa-mekh-siyah? They can help him."

"Okay, Mama," the little boy promised, beginning to withdraw from his father's embrace. But then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Spock's cheek. When he drew back again his lips and cheeks were curved into the same shape as his mother's.

* * *

**A/N:** Title from:

Meditation here  
May think down hours to moments.  
Here the heart  
May give a useful lesson to the head,  
And Learning wiser grow without his books.  
Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one,  
Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells  
In heads replete with thoughts of other men;  
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.  
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass,  
The mere materials with which Wisdom builds,  
Till smoothed and squared, and fitted to its place,  
Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich.  
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much;  
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.  
— William Cowper, _from The Task: Book VI, The Winter Walk At Noon _

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit.


	8. Attribute of the Strong

Uhura waited until Sanek scampered back into the house before lacing her fingers through Spock's. His hand was warm in hers. She sat huddled against him, almost defiant in the face of the pervasive heat that blanketed T'Khasi Vokaya's early night. She felt his fear ebbing away, though never disappearing entirely. Instead, it mingled with the surprise and apprehension — confused awe — stretching through the link in long, fluid waves that began again before they could end.

A vision of holding him in her lap, comforting him as if he were Sanek, called up a sparkle of aberrant mirth. Trying to suppress it, she re-imagined them with their reduced bodies — him barely a teen, her past toddlerhood but far from adolescence. The new image was so absurd, she couldn't hide her laughter, let alone stop the feeling from pulsing through their connection.

"What amuses you?" A burn of shame and uncertainly accompanied his query.

Wordlessly, Uhura guided their linked fingers to her psi points, smiling encouragingly through the darkness.

He snatched his hand from hers, abruptly slapping a shield between them as he did so. The bond remained open, telling her what touch could not: the fear had come back, nearly a panic — discernible from what he'd experienced before because it was… for _her_.

Although she told herself not to be hurt by his withdrawal, the little girl battled with the woman, and several moments passed before she could send him a sense of calm and of understanding, acceptance.

"I… can't," he explained, unnecessarily. "I am unsure I possess the control required to avoid harming you."

She forced herself to smile again, then ducked her head and burrowed deeper into his embrace.

"That's okay. I should have guessed that." She shrugged, the movement causing her cheek to brush against his shoulder. The feel of the coarsely-woven cloth, his heat seeping through, was at once familiar and foreign. She rubbed a second time. Spock felt… safe. He didn't protest when she reached for his hand again. "It's just that… well, it was funnier as a picture."

"Tell me," he said, squeezing her fingers. Encouragement was there, but also wariness.

She tried to recapture the hilarity which had so discomfited him, that had threatened to shake her small body with its uncontrolled strength. She managed another small smile, invisible with her face pressed against him.

"I saw myself holding you. Like you were Sanek. We were… all grown up." She deliberately used the childish phrase, allowing its silliness to transport her back to a brighter place. "And then I didn't want you to think I was laughing at how scared you were, so I made myself see us as we are now." This time, her buoyancy plummeted a the reminder of what had befallen them; the bright place receded with it. "It was funnier as a picture."

Warmth lured her out of her reverie. His free hand cupped her cheek, lifting her face until their eyes met.

"I did not understand," he confessed. "I should have held you like that." The shielding dropped again, and she was suffused with his concern, regret, determination to protect.

She shifted under his touch, unable, or unwilling — with her still-underdeveloped understanding of her emotions — to look at him as she spoke

"You didn't know. And, back then, I didn't know how to ask."

Freeing her hand, she found the closure seam of his rode. For the first time, she noticed that the garment was looser than it should have been. She ran her thumb over the ornamental fasteners.

"I tried," she said, unwilling to hold back the truth now that she had the means to share it. "I didn't know how to— I didn't know how to feel what I was feeling. And I also had no conception of the emotions and the… needs I still remembered, but didn't really have anymore. I just knew I needed you, and that it was different from before the change and that it was different from how you needed me."

Two years of fear and confusing and a seemingly endless loneliness spilled into the bond. Her lessons with his t'dahsu forgotten, she wouldn't have shielded him from her pain even if she had remembered how. With the casual cruelty of a child, she allowed her need to be understood — the need for him to know what she'd endured — rise above any desire she had to spare his feelings.

She clutched the closures, the seam twisting under her fingers.

"I thought maybe it was something like the way I needed Sanek to need me, but… different. And I didn't know how to say that, how to explain it to you. I didn't know how to ask. I couldn't dissect and process any of it. Because I didn't know how to do that anymore."

Regret, remorse — which no Vulcan was supposed to be capable of experiencing — crashed into wonder and unease, blending so completely with what was already there, she thought there should be a word for it. For everything he was feeling. It should have its own definition, description, identity.

"I should have assisted you," he told her. "_I_ should have been able to do what you could not, but…" He tried to pull away, but she just gripped him harder. "Forgive me, Nyota. My error was even more egregious than I have acknowledged."

"You didn't _know_." It wasn't absolution and she didn't intend it to be.

"Ri loit'lej fai'ei dvel a'ri nash-veh." She didn't need the empathic link or the telepathic bond to know his guilt. It colored his tone, as what little control he still had crumbled.

_Because I did not select the correct option_, she translated for him.

_Because you would not allow me to help make the important decisions_, she mentally amended.

Uhura watched in silence as he absorbed the message in what she did not say.

Spock straightened fully, forcing her release him. He pressed his back to the wall and his hands to his face. "I am sorry," he whispered into his palms. "You should not be made to bear the burden of my poor choices. I will no longer oppose… dahshaya. You may have your… p'pil'lay."

Nausea gripped her stomach like a fist. The air was suddenly too thin to fill her lungs. Panic, fueled by fear, regret — frustration that she hadn't made herself clear — tried to overwhelm her senses.

"No! That's not what I meant!" Tears streamed down her face. "I didn't—" She forced back a sob. "I don't want that. Why don't you understand? I still need you."

Her eyes were closed, her face still pressed against his shoulder, but she could feel his hesitation, his uncertainly.

"You don't need to leave me anymore." Talking made her throat hurt.

"Nyota, I—" But whatever he was about to say was lost in the sound of heavy footsteps clattering across the balcony.

.

.

"It would be for the best, mwana," Baba said gently. The golden lamplight cast his face in shadow, but she knew his face would be set in carefully neutral lines.

Spock bit his lip, still unsure, and stared at his feet.

Silently, Uhura urged him to agree. She glanced over to the bed where Sanek lay curled up, looking oddly unconcerned in spite of his parents' disquiet. He smiled at her and a surge of confidence filled her.

Turning her eyes back to the three males standing near the balcony door, she stepped forward.

"It'll be okay, Spocky," she whispered, reaching for his hand. "Tela'at will make sure we don't get hurt. And I need to see. I want _you_ to see."

Her husband, so diminished and vulnerable in his new form, looked up at her with wary eyes.

"I am afraid you will be angry with me, ashayam," he said plaintively.

She forced a smile she didn't feel as his hand closed over hers. "Probably. But one of the best thing about human kids? They forgive really easily. Right, Baba?"

No one in the room, except maybe Sanek, could possibly have been fooled, but Benjamin, and even Ambassador Spock, smiled a little anyway.

"Quite often, yes," Baba agreed. "Especially when there is love."

Spock looked from the doctor to the ambassador, his father-in-law to his t'dahsu. Uhura felt him come to a decision.

"Please," he said to his elder self, "help us join our minds."

.

.

Sanek turned over in his sleep, butting his head against his father's abdomen and pressing his knees into his mother's hip.

Spock waited until the boy's even breathing indicated that he would not awake. Uhura chuckled softly at her son's human tendency to sleep so deeply, and yet to actively.

"I have been thinking," Spock whispered once Sanek was settled. He reached over their son at stroked her cheek. "If you could explain, using less… emotional terms, why you were more distressed about my methods than by my actions, I am certain I will understand better this time."

Uhura didn't bother stopping her sigh. She really didn't want to go over it. Again. The afternoon would be much better spent working on the ion filter. Or napping with their son.

They had discussed what the meld had revealed at least a dozen times in the three days that had gone by since Spock was changed. There were still many things he didn't quite understand because Spock Tela'at had been unwilling to explore certain areas he'd claimed were for the young couple alone. And because Spock was still too afraid to touch her mind on his own.

"Because you chose _for_ me," she said quietly. "And I let you because I believed I'd failed you and Sanek. Because I _did_ fail to keep him safe, at least. That left me… powerless. I couldn't make things better if you"

Because he'd believed she held so little of Nyota Uhura that she was no longer able to recognize her existence outside its relativity to his. Because he knew she no longer existed in the form he'd become accustomed to defining as _her_.

With the bond no longer obscured, the shields eradicated, he had the shape of her thoughts as well as her feelings about them. She knew this. She wanted it. Needed it. For him to understand without the misconstruction and treachery that might come from words alone.

"That was not your fault," he asserted. "I was in error to leave you and our son alone while you were so clearly in anguish. What happened was more my fault than yours, beloved. Yet, you have chosen to forgive me for my part in it. For my part in everything."

_Why?_

The question came through impressions transmitted over the link, rather than through anything he said or through their bond.

"Because I _could_," she answered aloud.

"For so long, I blamed myself and I thought you blamed me, as well," she explained. "And you were so far away, but doing the same thing I was doing. We were both so busy believing we were at fault, we never really talked about our choices. This time, the decision was mine alone. And I chose happiness. For all of us."

There were things he still wouldn't understand, but she was willing to accept that for what it was.

.

.

Even a week after the change and the healing meld, bedtime arrangements remained a challenge. Neither Baba nor Spock Tela'at offered any advice, and in the end it was Sanek who forced the matter. He was reluctant to settle down without both of his parents present. Uhura and Spock made their way to wherever their son chose to sleep.

No one wanted force the little boy to adhere to a stricter discipline just yet.

Tonight, he'd chosen his own bed. It was much smaller than either of his parents', but that didn't stop the three of them from crowding together on it for their pre-sleep ritual.

"Mama's turn tonight," Sanek announced with a yawn.

Uhura's eyes met her husband's across their son. He raised a brow. After a few moments of thought, she decided to do what she should have done for Spock before they beamed down to Gamma Ilé-Ifẹ̀.

"Eshu is many things to many people, but at the end of the day, he is always Eshu-Elegbara, and a Trickster. Let me tell you some of his stories."

* * *

**A/N:** The title for this final chapter comes from:

"The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong." — Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi.

I don't own any of the Star Trek characters or concepts. I don't profit from writing about them.


End file.
